


Flying, falling, floating, free

by janescott



Category: X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Angst, M/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-27
Updated: 2011-06-27
Packaged: 2017-10-20 19:02:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/216109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/janescott/pseuds/janescott
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the http://1stclass-kink.livejournal.com fic meme prompt: "James/Michael: the four times they had sex (+one James forgot to mention - which ... I kind of left out. Sorry OP) Thanks to magenta for the beta.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Flying, falling, floating, free

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Fan fiction for fun. Neither X-Men, nor the real people involved belong to me. I'm just borrowing their action figures for a little while ;)

The first time

James grips the edge of the table, hard, nearly biting through his bottom lip trying to keep quiet.

He stares down at the hands gripping his hips, long fingers digging in right above his bones. His hair is falling into his eyes, it’s too hot in the trailer, his body is prickling all over with beads of sweat, and he can’t pretend to care. He shifts slightly, causing Michael’s cock to bump against his prostate and he does groan then, low in his throat.

“Shh. James. Shh.” Michael’s voice is low and breathy against his neck, even as he starts fucking into James harder and faster.

James’s cock is hard against his stomach, leaking and he wants to grab it, give himself some relief but he’s scared to let go of the table.

“Michael, please … I need, I need...”

He hears another gasp against his ear, and then the blessed relief of a hand on his straining cock, stroking fast and just the wrong side of too hard, but it’s _perfect_ and he’s coming before he realises it, spattering over his stomach and Michael’s hand.

“Fuck …” Michael’s hand tightens on his hip again, slams in hard enough to shove James into the edge of the table and he’s coming, swearing under his breath.

James is still holding on to the table when Michael slips out, ties off the condom, pulls up his trousers. He glances at James in the mirror. “All right?”

James doesn’t know what the answer is - he’s not sure how this happened exactly, it’s playing in his head in flashes, like strobe lights in a cheesy nightclub.

Michael knocking on his trailer door, which was standing open.

Sitting on the sofa, talking about the movie.

Michael saying something, James doesn’t remember what. He remembers his eyes fixing on Michael’s mouth and then -

Michael, scrambling through the cupboard in the miniscule bathroom. Finding condoms and a tiny bottle of lube, tucked away among the toothpaste and the mouthwash, stocked by one of the production assistants.

Stripping his clothes off while Michael watches. “Turn around, grab on to the table.” Watching in the mirror as Michael slicks his fingers, then his sheathed cock.

Then …

James swallows, nodding, and watches as Michael leaves, the trailer rocking a little as he bounds down the stairs.

Carefully he unlocks his fingers from the table and stumbles into the bathroom, one hand on the wall to support his shaking legs.

The second time

It’s a long, frustrating day on set. It’s green screen work; nothing too complicated, no aerial scenes but the technology keeps fritzing.

Michael shoves his hand through his hair and takes a deep breath, clenching his teeth before he snaps at someone.

The delay is no one’s _fault_ but it’s something that takes a while to fix and everyone’s a little on edge.

His eyes settle on James’s back - he’s slightly in front of Michael to the side, his head turned, watching the director describe something to January, his hands making wider and wider arcs.

He flicks a gaze back to Michael and raises his eyebrows in a silent question. Michael shakes his head. No, right now, he’s really not all right. He points back to where there’s a rabbit warren of rooms - bathrooms, a kitchen, dressing rooms and starts walking that way.

He knows James is with him when he feels a hand on the small of his back - he doesn’t need to look. Michael bites back a smile as they slip through into the backstage area.

“Better?” James asks, his hand still on Michael’s back.

“Getting there,” Michael replies, opening the nearest door, which happens to be a bathroom.

It’s cool and quiet, the white marble tiles offering something like sanctuary. Michael gropes back for the door, and grins when his hand lands on a lock. He clicks it and studies James’s reaction.

James leans against the wall, his face betraying nothing. Michael crowds into him, propping one arm up on the wall behind.

“Michael, what - _oh_.”

It’s not Michael’s plan for either of them to _talk_ right now. He leans down and whispers against James’s ear - meaningless sounds, mostly, pressing his body against James’s smaller frame - pinning him in place. He pauses to see if James has any objections but all James does is tip his head back against the wall, exposing the line of his neck, watching Michael from hooded eyes.

Michael runs his hands down the lines of James’s body, digging in when he feels a responding shiver to his touch. He smiles, a small, secret curve of a smile, before dropping to his knees.

The intake of James’s breath echoes around the tiled room. Michael looks up, his hands on James’s fly already. James stares at him for a moment before prying one hand off the wall and sinking it into Michael’s hair. He doesn’t move it - doesn’t pull on the hair - just … rests it there.

Michael pauses for a moment, biting his lip. They should talk, he supposes, vaguely. Work out what this … thing is. Then James strokes his hand through Michael’s hair, and Michael forgets to think at all. He undoes the fly on James’s trousers, pulling them down enough to expose the tempting, hard outline of James’s cock pressing against his briefs.

There’s a damp patch and Michael hones in on that first, tasting it with his tongue and nipping at the cotton with his teeth.

“Michael.” It comes out breathy and almost forced, as though James is slowly forgetting how to speak, like his language is breaking down a word at time until Michael’s name is all he’s left with.

Michael frees James’s cock - hard and leaking. He rubs his thumb over the tip, smearing pre-come in a glossy, hypnotic circle until James shifts, pushing his hips forward, his breath harsh as he draws it into his lungs, exhaling on a long groan.

“Jesus,” Michael whispers, reaching down to palm his own now-hard cock through his jeans, pressing down to relieve some pressure.

“Please.” It’s all James says - one tiny word on a breath out.

It’s all Michael needs. He slides his tongue over the head of James’s cock before sliding his mouth all the way down the length. Slow but steady. James’s hand tightens convulsively in his hair, as Michael circles the base of his cock with one hand, settling the other against James’s hip, pressing back gently.

His world narrows fast to the feel of James’s cock in his mouth, to the nearly breathless sounds James is making above him, jumbled up with his name, and soft curses.

He knows James is close when his hips suddenly thrust forward, pushing his cock to the back of Michael’s throat. Michael’s eyes water and he pulls off long enough to take a breath and look up - James looks _wrecked_ \- his mouth is red and bitten, his eyes wide, his hair messy and sticking to his forehead. Michael groans before swallowing James’s cock down again, one slick slide - and it’s all over. James is coming down his throat, cursing and apologising, babbling himself to silence.

Michael pulls off, wipes his mouth in a less-than-elegant gesture, but he’s smiling. He licks his lips, chasing James’s taste everywhere he can. Gently he tucks James’s spent cock back into his trousers before doing them up. He stands, grimacing slightly as his knees protest at being on the cold tile.

“Should I -” James reaches out, resting his hand awkwardly on Michael’s hip. “I mean -”

Michael shakes his head. “I can - take care of it. You’d better go back out. They’ll come looking if we’re both gone for too long.”

James bites his lip and shoves his hand through his hair. He looks like he’s going to say something but just nods, unlocks the door, and he’s gone.

Michael lets out a long breath, shifts so he can brace one hand on the sink, and frees his own aching cock. He closes his eyes and with James’s taste still in his mouth, with his breathless _need_ echoing in his head, Michael’s coming, hard, after a few hard strokes.

He cleans up, washes his hands and doesn’t look at himself in the mirror once.

The third time

For no good reason, Michael and James are the last on set. They’re lounging on the bed in the strip club, idly talking about nothing, circling around a million unsaid words.

James wants to ask Michael why he’s never kissed him - they’ve been nearly as intimate as two people can be, but he has no idea what Michael tastes like. He wants to ask Michael where this … thing is going - if anywhere.

Instead, he sighs and falls back against the pillows on the bed, staring up at the distant ceiling.

“Penny for ‘em.”

James shakes his head, but he doesn’t answer the question.

“We should move,” he says instead. “Go home. Or, well, back to the hotel. Get some sleep.”

“Mmm. Or we could stay here a bit longer …”

James wonders what it is, a little bit later. This power Michael seems to have that makes James feel like he’ll do anything Michael asks. It’s the accent he thinks, vaguely. At least - that’s part of it. As for the rest … James has no idea. He thinks that maybe he doesn’t want to know.

Michael had produced lube and a condom out of nowhere and James doesn’t want to think about the fact that Michael might have _planned_ this whole thing. Right now - his legs wrapped around Michael’s waist, lowering himself on to Michael’s cock feeling the addictive stretch - James doesn’t want to think about _anything_.

He buries his head in Michael’s neck, and inhales. Michael smells like expensive aftershave, warm skin, soap and sweat. James wants to taste, to press his tongue against the pulse he can feel beating, but he’s not feeling … brave.

He’s feeling exposed.

After, as Michael goes and finds a towel to clean them up with - and another set of sheets for the bed because they’re still filming that scene - James curls his hand around Michael’s wrist, and makes himself look him in the eye.

“I don’t think - we shouldn’t do this again.”

Michael doesn’t say anything, just searches James’s face with his opaque eyes that always see too much.

“All right,” he says, softly. “I’ll see you on set in the morning.”

The fourth time

Michael’s surprised to hear a knock on his trailer door. The film is done - the last scenes filmed and in the can, ready for the sometimes tedious post-production process.

He feels … empty and a little sad. Elated. Relieved. Exhausted. Like he could sleep for a month and never look at another script again. He knows the work’s not over. There are interviews, and promo to be done; the premiere …

He opens the door of his trailer.

“James.” He’s a little shocked at his lack of surprise. He’s been half-expecting it since - since the last time.

“What -” He doesn’t get any further before James is inside, pushing him back on to the crappy sofa, his mouth, jesus his _mouth_. Michael should push him away, tell him to fuck off, it was James who had put an end - he can’t. He can’t.

His hands act without his permission, sliding into James’s hair, pulling him closer. James straddles him on the couch, his hands on Michael’s face as they kiss and kiss for what feels like an eternity of _lips_ and _teeth_ and _tongues_ and Michael’s so hard he can’t think straight, dizzy with want and need.

James pulls back first, his eyes wide, his mouth swollen and debauched-looking. Michael can’t take his eyes off James’s face.

“This - this has to be it,” James’s voice is quiet, but rough and used-sounding. He sounds as weary as Michael felt before the knock on his trailer door gave him a shot of adrenalin.

“We can’t. Out there. This. I wanted - I wanted …” James takes a deep breath and pulls back, settling on Michael’s lap. Michael rubs his hands over James’s thighs, the same soothing motion over and over.

“This - has to be the last time,” James says quietly, his eyes fixed on Michael’s mouth. “The _real_ last time. I just wanted - I need to … just - one more time before we. Before -”

James stares down at Michael’s hands, as his words fail him. Michael lifts his hand to stroke a thumb over James’s cheekbone, something inside twisting when James leans into the touch, his eyes closed. “Before we go back to our real lives. Before we leave this … alternate reality.”

James nods without opening his eyes, and this time it’s Michael who moves first, leaning forward to nip gently at James’s lower lip, asking to be let in, one last time.

They move as slowly as they can - clothes discarded a piece at a time, languid, long kisses in between layers abandoned on the floor.

James lies back on the lumpy sofa and just _watches_. Michael kneels between his legs and runs a hand over his chest, stomach, tracing a pattern with his fingers over James’s hips.

James tucks one hand behind his head, and with the other, stops Michael’s tracing by winding their fingers together. They stay like that, still for a moment or an age - even afterwards Michael can’t tell. He does know that - again - he moves first.

He lets go of James’s hand and watches as James raises it, settling it above his head. Michael licks his lips, his mouth suddenly dry, his cock so hard that it almost hurts. “The … other one.” James studies him for the longest moment, before moving his other hand, resting it above his head.

“Jesus.” Michael’s voice is thready and thin. He wants this to last - wants to remember it for the rest of his life, but at the same time he wants to take James apart as fast as he can, so he’s the one to put him back together again. He glances down - James is _hard_ , his cock resting against his flat stomach.

“Michael. Michael, please.” James’s voice gets him moving. Michael takes a breath and reaches for the bottle of lube he’d put down on the floor. He pours some on to his hand, sliding the slippery liquid over his fingers. He’s hyper-aware of James’s eyes on his face, of his own breathing in the small, too-warm space.

He leans down, his eyes fixed on James’s neck, arching as he presses his lips against the white skin. Michael opens James up as slowly as he dares, keeping James’s skin under his mouth, as he stretches him with his fingers.

“Michael. Michael now. Please.” James’s voice is a bare breath against his ear, but his hips are moving restlessly against him, distracting in the best possible way.

Michael pulls back long enough to tear open the condom and roll it on to his cock, slicking it with more lube before lining up with James’s hole. He pushes in slowly, watching as James’s body shifts and stretches to accommodate him. He bottoms out, biting his bottom lip. He slides his hands up James’s arms, and tangles their fingers together, groaning against James’s mouth as he wraps his legs around Michael’s hips, rocking up, as Michael pushes down.

They find a rhythm that works, their bodies pressed as close together as possible, their hands clasped and fingers wrapped tight around each other like knots.

“Do you think you can - come like this?” Michael whispers in James’s ear as he speeds up, his harder thrusts matched by James’s hips every time. “Untouched. I want to take you apart like that.”

In answer James groans, arches his back, tightening his legs around Michael’s hips. He grips Michael’s hands harder with his own, his eyes suddenly flaring open.

"Harder,” he says, suddenly, the word gritted out between clenched teeth. “I need - _more_ ”.

It’s like a signal going off - a spark in Michael’s brain, and his instincts completely take over. He pulls almost completely out before ramming back in, hard. Michael fucks into him harder, and faster, losing himself in the rhythm and in James’s _eyes_ , wide open and fixed on Michael’s face.

Michael’s orgasm hits him before he’s ready - he doesn’t want this to be over yet - but the sight of James underneath him, dishevelled, gorgeous and fucking _begging_ is too much. James makes a desperate, small sound in the back of his throat, and then he’s coming, spattering his stomach, gasping through it.

They lie, quiet, their legs tangled, their hands still entwined.

Soon, Michael knows, they’ll have to move. Clean up, get dressed. Go to the afterparty. Back into their regular lives (as regular as their lives are going to be for the next few months).

For now, they lie, tangled together so that Michael doesn’t know where he ends and James begins.

It’s enough.

For now.


End file.
